Looking at cows in their high-roofy roomy Windy home, mid-afternoon idling,
Late winter, near spring, the fields not greening,
The wind North-East and sickening, the
Shrinking, the year growing.
The parapets Of toppled hay, the broken walls of hay,
The debris of hay.
The peace of cattle Mid-afternoon, cud-munching, eyelids lowered.
The deep platform of dung.
Looking at cows Sharing their trance, it was an anomalous Blue plastic apron I noticed Hitched under the tail of one cow That went on munching, with angling ears.
A glistening Hanging sheet of blue-black.
I thought Of aprons over ewes' back-ends To keep the ram out till it's timely.
I thought Of surgical aprons to keep cleanliness Under the shit-fall.
Crazily far thoughts Proposed themselves as natural, and I almost Looked away.
Suddenly The apron slithered, and a whole calf's Buttocks and hind-legs---whose head and forefeet Had been hidden from me by another cow--- Toppled out of its mother, and collapsed on the ground.
Leisurely, as she might be leisurely curious,
She turned, pulling her streamers of blood-tissue Away from this lumpish jetsam.
She nosed it Where it lay like a still-birth in its tissues.
She began to nibble and lick.
The jelly Shook its head and nosed the air.
She gave it The short small swallowed moo-grunts hungry cows Give when they stand suddenly among plenty.
